My mom is in the hospital. She is, as they say, gravely ill. Basically, any minute, I could get a call from my sister saying that she’s gone.
Mom is 82. She raised ten kids (four from my dad’s first marriage, the rest her own). She has sixteen grandkids (I think I’ve counted right), and I don’t know how many great-grandkids.
She taught me how to knit and crochet (even though she really didn’t like crochet, herself). She taught me how to bake.
She told me last week that I’m her favorite.
In fifteen days, it will have been six years since my dad died.
Maybe she’ll pull through. It seems unlikely, but, maybe.